


And I Want You To Be Mine

by pohjanneito



Series: Reddie A/B/O series [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alpha Richie Tozier, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkwardness, First Kiss, Knotting, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Omega Eddie Kaspbrak, They're 17, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pohjanneito/pseuds/pohjanneito
Summary: Eddie had wanted to be Richie’s as much as he’d wanted Richie to be his, from kindergarten to high school, through all the afternoons they’d lazed away in the clubhouse, with every skinned knee he’d patched up when Richie did something dumb to impress him, all the times Richie had found him the cleanest seat in the school bus during a field trip, when he shared his popcorn in the movie theater, and even during the big fight of ‘88 over a ruined issue of The Uncanny X-Men, Eddie had wanted to be Richie's.or Richie and Eddie deal with the events ofAwakenings
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Reddie A/B/O series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768984
Comments: 30
Kudos: 350
Collections: Rare Reddie Collections





	And I Want You To Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to [Awakenings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884091) so I recommend reading that first :) Comments are very welcome, but I'm using comment moderation because the fandom climate has been a little hostile lately. Hugs and kisses to Bonnie for beta reading this for me <3

Eddie hauled his bike up from the patch of dead grass where he’d left it almost two weeks ago and made sure to turn his head both ways as he steered it to the street. He knew his Mommy was watching through the sheer curtains in the living room window, felt the weight of her unblinking eyes at the back of his head all the way to the Donner house until he was finally able to disappear behind the hedges that framed their yard.

And then, freedom! Limited to two measly hours, but freedom nonetheless.

His heat had ended almost a week ago and Eddie was fine, a little skinnier than he was before the whole ordeal, but his Mommy had kept him in bed for three extra days, _just to be safe, Eddie-bear, I don’t want you collapsing in the middle of a busy street! You know how fragile you are, sweetie._ She’d coddled him like she always did, pouring half of their medicine cabinet down his throat, as if the fire in his gut would come down with a dose of Tylenol and DayQuil.

The week he’d spend confined to his room had been a messy, aching, kaleidoscope of want, so fierce that he’d been desperate enough to almost claw his own skin off. And there _were_ angry red welts on his pelvis and inner thighs, framed by little purple bruises that matched the shape of his fingers, something he made sure to hide from Mommy.

She was under the impression that Eddie was going to Ben's house for an afternoon of miniature painting, and Ben had agreed to lie for him if she decided to call and check, but there was only one person Eddie wanted to see today, consuming his mind like a particularly catchy earworm.

The last time he’d seen Richie felt like a fever dream, but the offensively bright button-up currently hidden under a loose floorboard in Eddie's room proved that Richie had really been there, behind Eddie’s window, like some hero in the romance novels they used to steal from Richie’s sister back when the dirty words they’d seek out on the pages still made them giggle. Which in Richie’s case, was probably still true.

Eddie took a shortcut through the alley behind Keene’s pharmacy and ducked his head when he rode past Gretta and a group of girls he knew from school, holding court under the sunshade and giggling at something in the magazine in Gretta’s hands. Eddie was sure they couldn’t actually tell he’d just been through his first heat, any lingering traces of it faded from his scent by now, but Gretta raised her eyes from her magazine and leered at him anyway like it was her God-given right as an alpha to ogle any passing omega like a potential piece of meat she’d like to sample.

As if Eddie would ever go for someone who’d called him a loser for most of his life, and was in the habit of filling bathroom cubicles with bullshit rumors about his friends.

The thrill of freedom gave way to a swarm of nervous butterflies as Eddie got closer to Cedar Street, the Tozier house with its conservative paint job and Richie’s shoddily mown lawn waiting at the end of it like a cover shot from _Better Homes & Gardens _.

His Mommy checked all the dialed numbers on their phone, so Eddie had called Stan, and Stan had promised to call Richie and let him know Eddie was coming over, but what if he’d forgotten and Richie wasn’t even home? He could be visiting his Nana in Bar Harbor, or maybe he’d found a new best friend while Eddie was doing time in his room, someone who didn’t walk around with a small pharmacy strapped to their waist like a giant dweeb, or nag his ear off when he ate food that had touched the floor or--

_Or_ Richie could be at home, waiting for Eddie to haul his ass across town.

He stood up on the pedals and put the muscles in his thighs to work as he biked past the remaining stretch of picket fences, the sight of Richie’s bike leaning against the garage door loosening the chokehold on his nerves.

Eddie knew his Mommy was probably sitting in front of the TV, busy with her Saturday manicure, but he left his bike at the side of the house, looking over his shoulder like a skulking dog as he approached the front door. 

The scent of Maggie’s roses carried into his nose in a gentle breeze and he spent a good half a minute watching a fat bee fly from flower to flower, his finger hovering over the doorbell as he tried to find his suddenly missing courage to ring it.

“Come on, Eds, it’s just Richie...”

That was a big, fat lie. Richie had never been _just_ anything, not to Eddie, and the past couple of weeks had flung them into uncharted territory, so yeah, he was a little nervous.

Eddie smashed his finger against the worn brass button and tapped his foot along the familiar doorbell jingle. _Ding-dong ding-dong, ding-dong ding-dong_. There was a blur of color behind the opal glass window on the door, and Eddie didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t Richie who greeted him.

“Eddie!” Went exclaimed, his mouth pulling into a surprised smile. “It’s been a while, kid.”

“Oh. Hi, Mr. Tozier.”

Eddie had always liked Richie’s father, and even his annual dental checkups had never been as unpleasant as most health-related things in his life, because Went let him listen to the sports radio while he worked, and made sure his Mommy didn’t hover at Eddie’s side and answer all the questions on his behalf like she did at the doctor’s office.

Went stroked his finger over the caterpillar of a mustache under his nose and gave Eddie a quick once-over. “Your mom said you were sick when she called to cancel your appointment, what was it, a couple of weeks ago? Everything okay now?”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie dropped his gaze to his feet and clenched his hands around his fanny pack, the tips of his ears going red with embarrassment. “Yeah, I was just--”

“He’s _fine_ , Dad,” Richie interrupted, forcing his father aside as he elbowed his way into the doorway.

And there he was, as lanky and bug-eyed as always, his cheeks pink with more than sunburn as he swiped at a stubborn curl of hair hanging over his glasses.

_Full of fingerprints, as always,_ Eddie thought fondly.

“Hey there, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said, cringing at the volume of his own voice. He reached out with his hand and Eddie watched it hover in the air for a few hesitant seconds before Richie finally wrapped his fingers around Eddie’s wrist to pull him inside.

They stood in the brightly lit hall, gaping at each other like two estranged people at a family gathering, and even the thick artificial sweetness of Maggie’s air fresheners wasn’t enough to cover the nervous mix of their scents.

Went cleared his throat and gave their shoulders a light pat, his eyes amused behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Well, I think I’ll leave you boys to your awkward staring,” he said, laughing under his breath as he headed into the den. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Eddie.”

Eddie felt like he’d been dropped into a vacuum, the steady tick of Nana Tozier’s old grandfather clock the only sound in the room for what felt like an agonizing eternity. He hadn’t been this thoroughly uncomfortable since his visit to Doctor Hart’s office after he’d presented, forced to listen to a lecture about heats and contraception while his Mommy sat in the chair she’d dragged next to Eddie’s, her fingers digging into the peeling faux leather of her purse as her face went from pink to burgundy.

Eddie stole a nervous glance at Richie through the curl of hair over his eyes and bumped the toe of his sale bin sneaker against Richie’s worn Nike.

“Hey...”

Richie shifted a little closer, his mouth curling up in a smile that was almost uncharacteristically shy for him. “Hey yourself, Eds.” He reached out to brush his fingers against Eddie’s knuckles, soft like a cat’s tail, and Eddie turned his palm up in an invitation.

“Eddie, is that you?”

Richie yanked his hand back just as Maggie’s head popped out of the kitchen door. "Oh, it is!" She walked over, wiping her hands on the flour-stained apron tied around her waist.

Richie rolled his eyes, his scent souring with impatience as Maggie combed Eddie’s hair off his forehead and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“Oh, honey, have you lost some weight?” The faint lines on her forehead grew a little deeper with worry as her eyes lingered on the bags under Eddie’s eyes. “I think Went mentioned you’ve been sick?”

  
  


“I’m fine, Mrs. Tozier, it’s just been a rough couple of weeks.”

Maggie’s eyes lit up with quiet understanding and she stroked her thumb over Eddie’s freckled cheek. Eddie knew she was an omega like him, as was Richie’s sister, though Eddie hadn’t seen Harper since she left Derry for college almost two years ago. “It’ll get easier,” Maggie said, like they were sharing a secret.

“ _Mom_ ,” Richie groaned, tugging Eddie towards the staircase by the strap of his fanny pack. “Can I take Eddie to my room now?”

“You can, if you promise to bring him down in about,” Maggie glanced at the silver watch on her wrist, “thirty minutes. I need you two to taste test my pie for the Derry Ladies Society's bake sale."

“He definitely will,” Eddie nodded from the staircase, following Richie past the collection of family portraits that lined the walls.

They were almost on the second floor landing when Maggie peeked over the bannister, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she crooked her finger and beckoned Richie over. “One more thing, Richard.”

Richie paled at the use of his full name, dragging his feet as he made his way back down. Eddie watched Maggie pull him aside and murmur something, and whatever she said made Richie’s face turn an impressive shade of scarlet.

Maggie held up her hand, the arch of her brow leaving no room for argument. “It’s not up for discussion”

“Okay, okay,” Richie sighed, rolling his eyes. “Jeez…”

He rushed back three stairs at a time and knocked the door to his room open, the novelty “private property” sign he’d nailed to the wood swinging left and right as he held his arm out in an invitation. 

“After you, my good sir,” Richie said in his Posh English Prick voice, giving Eddie a little bow.

Eddie let out a groan and pretended to scratch his nose to hide his smile; Richie didn't need to know that Eddie had kind of missed his awful Voices in his isolation, just a little.

Richie’s room wasn’t the dump it had been during Eddie’s ill-fated visit, but Eddie had a feeling that one look under the bed or into the row of closets at the back of the room would shatter the illusion. The air smelled like it’d been saturated with a concentrated dose of Lysol, and Eddie wrinkled his nose, barely able to make out Richie’s own scent under the smell of chemicals.

He tried to glue his eyes on anything but the corner where Richie had sat huddled in a sedated haze, but the pull of it was almost magnetic, and Eddie felt his cheeks flush with the memory of lying on the worn carpet, right next to the empty turtle tank and Castle Greyskull (still too cool for the donation box).

The air in the room seemed to shift and ripple with a burst of nervous energy, and Eddie lifted his eyes from the carpet, turning them to Richie who looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. He’d left the door ajar, wide enough for anyone peeking up from the staircase to have a direct view of his bed on the opposite side of the room.

“My mom said I have to leave it open when I’m alone with you…” Richie muttered, his mouth pulling into a sullen line as he turned to look at the gap in the door over his shoulder.

“Oh. Okay.” Eddie’s eyes darted to the bed, and he knew Richie could probably smell his embarrassment through the thick veil of Lysol. “Sorry…”

“What? No, no, Eddie, _I’m_ the one they don’t trust. And I’m the one who should apologize, okay?” Richie adjusted his glasses, the nervous undertone in his scent becoming almost cloying as he came a little closer and took Eddie’s hands between his clammy palms. “I’m so sorry, Eds, I didn’t mean to, I mean, it’s my fault that you went into--” Richie cleared his throat, the few seconds of dead air that followed louder than what was left unsaid. “Well, _you know_ , and I shouldn’t have come to your window, that was fucking stupid, but no one had seen you in days, and when your scent hit me through the door, I just… lost it?”

Richie was giving Eddie a run for his money with how fast his mouth was going, and it was obvious he’d been dying to get the words out from the moment Eddie had shown up at his door, probably a lot longer.

“Come on, Rich, it wasn’t your fault,” Eddie said, though technically speaking, it kind of was. Doctor Hart had told his Mommy there could be a number of triggers behind Eddie’s first heat, but rolling on the floor with his favorite alpha who just happened to be in the middle of his first rut had to be on top of that list. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. And I'm the one who climbed through your window.”

Richie looked at Eddie like a scolded puppy, the slant of his eyebrows almost hilariously rueful. “I don’t remember much about that night.” He chewed his lip, his fingers twitching against Eddie’s knuckles as his gaze shifted to the spot on the carpet where he’d pinned Eddie under his body. “I didn’t… hurt you, did I?”

Eddie gaped at Richie like he’d sprouted a second head on his shoulder, his brows dropping to a scowl. “ _What?_ Richie, no, of course you didn’t, you’d never!”

Most alphas had made Eddie nervous long before he’d presented. He watched them with wary eyes as they passed him in school hallways and crowded classrooms, suspicious of their intrusive gazes and toothy smiles. _“Those mutts are only after one thing, Eddie-bear,”_ his Mommy would say, and it was one of the few things Eddie knew wasn’t just a paranoid exaggeration.

But Richie had always been the exception to that rule. They’d been glued to each others’ sides since kindergarten, always _RichieandEddie_ , no spaces or pauses, not sold separately, and their dynamic had barely changed even after Richie had shown up in the clubhouse one spring afternoon, stinking up the place with his newly-presented alpha scent. If Richie’s hovering had taken on a more protective note in recent months, well, maybe Eddie’s own need to force himself into the hammock whenever Richie laid down in it wasn’t all about holding onto their mutually agreed ten minute rule either, never had been.

“Thank fuck… You have no idea how many times I almost hurled just thinking about it,” Richie sighed, the tension in his shoulders lifting almost like he’d shrugged off some invisible weight from them. “And you’re right, I wouldn’t hurt you, not ever, Eds,” he said, his eyes sincere as he bent down to rest his forehead against Eddie’s. “I know you can take care of yourself and you’ve patched me up more times than I can count with your little mobile pharmacy here,” Richie gave Eddie’s fanny pack a shake, the multivitamins and antihistamines rattling in their bottles, “But I’ll always take care of you, my little ravioli.”

“I’ve told you not to call me anything you can find on a menu at Enzo’s,” Eddie snorted, bumping his knuckles against Richie’s chest.

There was still an unspoken but very obvious elephant in the room, plastered all over Richie’s fond smile and the trace of something sweet in Eddie’s scent, but neither of them seemed ready to bring it up just yet.

Richie cleared his throat and wiped his palms against the faded denim of his jeans. “My dad let me buy the new Nirvana CD when I had zero cavities in my checkup this week. Wanna listen to it?”

Eddie didn’t share Richie’s love for grunge and whatever weird alternative stuff he’d taken interest in during their sophomore year, but Richie was already setting the CD into the stereo.

Eddie was aware that he couldn’t spend the next forty minutes standing in the middle of Richie’s room, and he eyed the bed, but the chair in front of the desk felt like the safer option. He moved the pile of clothes thrown over the backrest aside and sat down, the sudden spike in the volume of rough guitar riffs drawing his startled eyes up to Richie.

Richie fumbled with the volume knob, his eyes glued to the fading fingermarks where Eddie’s shorts had ridden up. Eddie tugged on the hems and knocked his knees together, the underside of his thighs sticking to the chair like it was made out of flypaper.

“Sorry…” Richie mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. He appeared to come to the same conclusion about the bed as Eddie, and settled on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the mattress. He scrunched his nose as he studied the small leaflet inside the album case, his heels rolling against the carpet in a restless swing, and Eddie didn’t miss the way his eyes darted across the room every few seconds.

Richie Tozier was about as subtle as a train wreck, and like a well-loved book, Eddie knew him from cover to cover.

Eddie flipped through the issue of Death Rattle on Richie’s desk and brushed the errant curl of hair over his eyes aside, his cheek dimpling a little as he tilted his neck and pretended to listen to whatever angst-filled nonsense Kurt Cobain was shouting into the microphone. He heard Richie’s breath wheeze out of his nose, the leaflet in his hands falling on the carpet as he gaped at the exposed bonding gland on Eddie’s neck.

Richie pulled his legs up to his chest and drummed his fingers against his knees. “Hey, Eds? Did you-- Did you find the shirt I left behind your window?” he asked, his voice a little reedy.

“Yeah, Richie, I did…” Eddie flushed as he remembered the way he’d carried the piece of fabric into his makeshift nest of blankets and pillows like a magpie, how he’d tucked it between the clutch of his thighs as he lay in bed, almost delirious with want. “It really helped.”

Richie sat up a little straighter, the owlish look on his face almost as endearing as it was hilarious. “It did?”

Eddie poked his tongue against his bottom lip, his shorts pulling taut around his thighs as he rubbed them together. “I could smell you through the glass long after you were gone,” he confessed. “I wanted to climb out and come after you so bad and I- I think I would have if my mom hadn’t watched me like a hawk." Eddie dug his neatly trimmed nails into his clammy palms, his heart going pitter-patter in his chest as he pushed himself to spill the final beans of his confession. "Richie, you're all I thought about when I was in heat.”

“Eddie…” Richie got up, and rushed to turn the music off. He knelt on the floor and settled between Eddie’s thighs, his overbite on full display as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, the sunlight from the window behind them bringing out the flecks of hazel in his eyes as he pressed his palms against Eddie’s bare thighs.

They stared at each other, their combined scent ripe with a slow-simmering want that Eddie was eager to let boil over. He felt the tremble in Richie’s hands as he slid them a little higher, tracing his thumbs over the tan lines that matched the length of Eddie’s favorite short-shorts; _inappropriate for a boy your age, Eddie,_ according to his Mommy and _fucking yowza_ , according to Richie.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and smacked his lips as he pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth, the sound loud without the music. “Fuck, Eddie, you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now, and pretty much, like, every moment I’m awake,” he said, like the cradle of Eddie’s thighs was his private little confessional.

Eddie pressed his knees against Richie’s ribs, squeezing his fingers around the strap of his fanny pack.

“Do you want me to? I mean, do you think it’s something you’d be into?” Richie asked, familiar with every single one of Eddie’s hangups after a decade of lectures about listeria and e.coli and whatever Sonia Kaspbrak had decided was going to potentially kill her little Eddie-bear any given week.

And Eddie knew the human mouth was like a petri dish of bacteria, remembered the disgusting pictures of herpes and mono he’d seen in the big book of diseases his Mommy consulted whenever she suspected Eddie had come down with something. But fuck, he _did_ want Richie to kiss him, so bad.

“Please, Richie, I want it,” Eddie nodded, licking his lips like he’d seen people do in movies just before the Big Moment.

Richie cupped Eddie’s cheeks and surged forward, and that was it, their mouths were pressed together before Eddie could even close his eyes. The angle was a little awkward and Richie’s glasses knocked against the bridge of Eddie’s nose, but for a first kiss, it was perfect in all of its imperfection.

Richie had spent years riling Eddie up with jokes about his sexual prowess and animal magnetism like he was Derry’s resident Casanova, but it was obvious that he had never done this with anyone else as he attempted to slip his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, poking it against his cupid’s bow like he was sticking it into a metal pole in the middle of winter.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and parted his lips, expected Richie’s tongue to feel like a snail or one of the leeches they sometimes peeled off each other’s backs after a swim in the quarry, but it was warm and soft, a little clumsy maybe, as Richie pressed it against Eddie’s own tongue, a faint tang of poprocks tingling on his taste buds.

“Eddie, Eds, _fuck_ ,” Richie whined, pulling back a little, his nose smushed against Eddie’s. “I know this sounds like something straight out of those books we used to steal from Harper's room, but will you, please, be mine?”

Eddie had wanted to be Richie’s as much as he’d wanted Richie to be his, from kindergarten to high school, through all the afternoons they’d lazed away in the clubhouse, with every skinned knee he’d patched up when Richie did something dumb to impress him, all the times Richie had found him the cleanest seat in the school bus during a field trip, when he shared his popcorn in the movie theater, and even during the big fight of ‘88 over a ruined issue of The Uncanny X-Men, Eddie had wanted to be Richie's.

“Duh, of course I will,” Eddie nodded, taking one of Richie’s hands to settle it over his bonding gland. “You sap,” he grinned.

Richie gave Eddie’s lips a series of sloppy little pecks and slipped his fingers under the collar of his t-shirt to stroke them over the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, still a little tender from his heat.

“I’m so fucking happy I think my heart’s about to burst out of my chest like that thing in Alien,” Richie sighed, his joy bleeding into his scent.

“Gross,” Eddie snorted. He pressed a protective hand against Richie’s chest and leaned in to nose at the warm patch of skin in the dip between his shoulder and collarbone.

They were too young for mating bites, but Eddie’s lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he let himself breathe in Richie’s scent, finally allowed to get close without the usual excuses like _Your glasses are dirtier than your mouth, you’d better let me check that you don’t have pink eye_ and _Your ten minutes in the hammock are up, I’m climbing in, dingus_. He could touch and taste and scent as much as he wanted. And Eddie wanted, a lot.

He flicked his tongue against Richie’s skin and felt him shiver between his thighs, the glazed look in his eyes evoking a memory of rutting against each other on the floor. 

And maybe it was a little too much, a little too close to his heat, because Eddie felt something warm begin to unspool low in his belly, the nylon of his shorts pulling tight as he parted his thighs a little wider around Richie’s flanks.

Richie blew out a sharp breath and jerked back, his eyes darting to the door. “Uh, I think we’d better roll the credits here, Eduardo, keep things PG for now.” He pushed Eddie’s legs together and gave his thigh a playful little slap. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hard R when the parental units aren’t around, and I’ll make sure it’s all uncut.”

“Beep fucking beep,” Eddie snorted.

Richie wagged his brows, his smile lecherous. He opened his mouth, gearing up for a Voice when Maggie’s footsteps on the stairs made Eddie almost fall off his chair as they scrambled away from each other.

“Boys, the pie is done!” she called, her head poking up from the staircase.

“Okay, we’re coming, Mom!” Richie hollered back, waving his hand at her from the foot of the bed. He turned to look at Eddie, the spooked expression on his face turning into annoyance at being interrupted. “Come on, my mom will chew my head off if you don't go down and stuff your cute little face with that damn pie.”

Eddie followed Richie down the stairs, the smell of Maggie’s baking hitting his salivary glands like a calculated strike. She was no June Cleaver, but it was an undisputed fact and a source of jealous glaring at every school bake sale that Maggie Tozier made the best blueberry pie in Derry, probably in the entire state of Maine.

She served them oven-fresh slices of it, watching them over her shoulder as she watered the house plants on the windowsill.

“How is it?” she asked, but Eddie barely heard her as Richie kept knocking his foot against his ankle under the table, grinning around the piece of pie in his mouth.

“It’s good, Mom,” Richie mumbled with his cheeks full of pie, his eyes glued to Eddie’s.

“Yeah, really good, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie echoed.

Maggie set her watering can on the counter and sat herself down on the opposite side of the table. She folded her hands against the lacquered surface, leveling them both with a look that was usually followed by a _serious conversation_.

“Oh shit,” Richie blurted, his eyes apprehensive as he squirmed in his seat.

“I have two rules,” Maggie said, holding up her neatly-manicured finger as she directed her gaze at Richie. “One, the door stays open when you take Eddie to your room, every time.”

“What? No way!” Richie protested, the piece of crust on his fork falling on the floor as he waved his hands.

“ _Every time_ , Richard.”

Richie sank down in his chair like someone had plucked out his spine. “Fine, whatever…”

“And two,” Maggie held up a second finger and turned her eyes on Eddie, the gentle smile she gave to him almost identical to Richie’s. “I want you to know that you can always come to me if there’s anything you want to talk about, anything at all, Eddie.”

Eddie knew that Richie’s parents were familiar with his home life, could probably guess how his Mommy tried to protect his virtue like a human chastity device, the mandatory doctor’s appointments and the camp he’d been sent to for a weekend back in ‘91 still the only things she’d conceded to.

“Thanks, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie said with a polite smile, even if the thought of going to Richie’s mom for a heart-to-heart made his cheeks turn a little blotchy.

Richie sat up in his chair and skewered the remaining piece of pie on his plate. He shoved it into his mouth and shot his mom an expectant look. “That it?”

Maggie narrowed her eyes and drummed her nails against the table, keeping them in suspense for a few agonizing seconds. “That’s it, for now,” she said, standing up from the table. She reached behind her back to undo her apron and folded it on the backrest before heading to the den, her quiet laughter echoed by Went’s a moment later.

Richie threw his head back, eyeing Eddie from the corner of his eye. “Well, that was fucking mortifying.”

“How did she know?” Eddie hissed, resting his elbows against the table as he pushed his fingers into his hair. “Were we _that_ obvious?”

Richie’s smile turned a little sheepish, his foot fidgeting against Eddie’s under the table. “Well, I’ve been pining for you since middle school, Eds, probably longer, and you always say I have a shit poker face.”

“You do. It’s worse than Ben’s,” Eddie agreed.

“Plus moms just _know_ shit,” Richie whispered. “Like this one time, I spilled paint in the garage and tried to frame the neighbors dog by having it walk all over the pool of paint, but my mom took one look at my face and had me grounded for a week.” 

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Eddie snorted. “I kept telling you it was a dumb idea, but you didn’t listen to me even after that dog took a leak all over your sneakers.”

Richie held up his hand to interrupt Eddie’s trip down memory lane. “Yeah, yeah, let’s not go into detail. My point is that my mom is probably psychic. Kinda like that crazy chick in Chamberlain back in the seventies.”

“The one who killed half of her classmates? That’s an urban legend, dipshit,” Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And that girl had telekinesis, it’s a totally different thing.”

Richie wagged his brows and slid his hand down to squeeze Eddie’s thigh under the table. “Oh yeah? Well, I have bigdickitis.”

“That sounds more like a disease than a superpower,” Eddie pointed out, shoving the final piece of pie on his plate into Richie’s grinning mouth.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Halloween at Bill’s house had been a Losers Club tradition ever since they’d all been four feet tall and missing half of their baby teeth. Like most things in life, it had evolved over the years, from plastic pumpkin lanterns and late-night bellyaches that resulted from eating too much candy before bed to feeling too embarrassed to go out in costumes their moms had made from whatever was available at the local craft store. They’d been bribing an older kid in Bill’s neighborhood to rent them the same selection of horror movies since ‘89 and this year was no different.

The Denbrough house was decorated with garlands of paper skeletons and gap-toothed pumpkins, and Richie had even donated the assorted collection of creepy crawlies he'd bought in a joke shop in Portland after Eddie had wised up to all of Richie's attempts at scaring him.

They’d all packed their gangly limbs into Mike’s truck to pick Bev up from the bus station earlier in the afternoon, and there she was, sandwiched between Stan and Ben on the lumpy couch in the Denbroughs’ attic-turned-rec room.

Richie had missed her as much as the rest of them, well, probably not as much as poor Ben who was paying more attention to Beverly’s freckled face than the gorefest on TV, but no one could blame her for wanting to move out after she’d presented, not when she’d been cursed with a father like Alvin Marsh, one of Derry’s many shit stains.

The two years she'd spent away from Derry had allowed her to shed the suffocating shadow of small town America, and in its place was a family that loved her and friends who didn't know or care about the gossip she'd left behind.

Mrs. Denbrough kept them well-fed, coming up into the attic with a fresh bowl of popcorn every time there was a lull in the wave of trick-or-treaters at the door, though Richie was pretty sure it was just an excuse to make sure there was no underage drinking happening under her roof. And there wasn’t, no matter how hard Richie had tried to talk everyone into it.

He and Eddie took turns to feed each other candy corn, flicking them in the air to try and catch them with their mouths.

"Ow!" Eddie giggled when the candy Richie flipped for him hit him in the eye. "Your aim is shit!"

"Hey, I could pitch for the Yankees, your technique needs more tongue," Richie smirked, shoving a handful of candy corn into Eddie's mouth before he had a chance to protest.

Their first movie of the evening reached its credits and Beverly went through the pile of tapes they’d chosen for their marathon. “Who picked Beetlejuice?” she scoffed, arching her brow as her eyes turned to Richie. “I thought we were aiming for scary.”

“It has ghosts!” Richie argued, a little defensive. “And Eddie’s scared of it.”

"What? No, I’m not, asshole!” Eddie protested through the blob of half-chewed candy corn in his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” Beverly smirked, putting the tape aside in favor of something a little bloodier.

“ _You’re_ scared of Beetlejuice,” Eddie grumbled, pulling Richie's his arm over his shoulder and burrowing against his flank.

Mrs. Denbrough’s head popped in through the hatch in the floor just as Jason shoved his machete through his first victim of the night. “Are you sure you should be watching that?” she asked, frowning at the TV screen.

“It’s okay, Mom, it’s just corn syrup and f-f-fake limbs,” Bill said, shooting his mom a reassuring smile, a real Big Bill special that had people believing the sun shone out of his ass.

“Well, you’d better make sure Georgie doesn’t sneak up here or you’ll be the one who puts him back to bed when he has a nightmare.”

Richie’s attention drifted away from the movie when Mrs. Denbrough bent down to set the bowl of popcorn on the table. She’d dressed up as a crew member from Star Trek, not the cool one with Picard, but the lame relic with the cardboard sets and horny aliens. Her skirt rose up, up, up, and the situation was practically begging for a mom joke, but the glare Bill aimed at Richie from across the room killed it at his lips.

They didn’t step on each other’s toes too often, and Bill would always be one of Richie’s closest friends, but it was hard to pretend that things hadn’t changed after they’d both presented. It was smooth sailing when they were on neutral turf, but coming to Bill’s house made Richie’s instincts go a little haywire, and he knew there was a reason why Bill had dragged his bean bag to the opposite side of the attic.

Richie didn’t want to be one of those overbearing neck-breathers he’d heard Harper complain about whenever their mother sat down on the edge of her bed for _girl talk_. Alphas who acted like wardens around the omegas they dated and got into a pissing contest with every rival alpha that dared to come too close, but Beverly hadn’t been wrong when he’d called Richie a giant leech earlier in the evening, laughing at the way he’d sidled up to Eddie on the little loveseat they shared.

The sound of the doorbell ringing two floors below them had Mrs. Denbrough rushing back to the staircase, but she paused to give Richie and Eddie a look that seemed to say _no funny business in my house, boys_ , her eyes lingering on the quilt Richie had thrown over their legs at the beginning of their gory marathon.

And Richie was on his best behavior. Well. He tried to be. They’d been taking things pretty slow, not because Eddie was a prude, fuck, he was a horny little gremlin like Richie, maybe even worse, because he was in the habit of covering the skin around Richie’s bonding spot with so many hickies that Richie was forced to wear a polo every other week.

Richie left his own marks in more private places, safe from Sonia's hawk eyes. The slender curve of Eddie’s bicep, paler now than in the summer, over the hard lines of his ribs, and sometimes, if he was feeling bold, he’d undo the buttons on Eddie’s jeans and press his lips against the jut of his hip bones.

On those nights, only a cold shower could extinguish the fire in Richie’s gut, but it was hard to go beyond heavy petting with the rule his mom had set about the door to his room staying open. _Ten inches, Richard!_ The clubhouse offered some privacy, but they hadn’t made out in the hammock after Eddie’s elbow in Richie’s nose resulted in a bloodbath that could have rivaled the gore on the TV screen.

Plus things got really fucking messy once Richie popped his knot, and he could tell Eddie was equally squeamish about the potential mess he might make if things got too heated. So they were stuck somewhere between first and second base, which, truth be told, was still pretty fucking awesome.

Beverly reached into the bowl of popcorn on Mike’s lap and flicked a half-popped kernel at Richie’s forehead. “There better not be any hanky-panky happening under that quilt, boys,” she snickered.

Richie slid his hand away from Eddie’s thigh and pressed it against his chest with an offended gasp. “What kinda guy do you think I am, Miss Marsh?”

“A real horn dog,” Beverly deadpanned, and every single Loser in the room nodded their heads, including Eddie, the little hypocrite.

“Et tu, Brute?”

“Shut up and watch the movie, dingus,” Eddie smirked even as his own hand skittered up the inner seam of Richie’s jeans under the quilt.

They called it a night after Mike fell asleep against Ben who’d been snoring against Beverly’s shoulder for the better part of an hour. Bill shook them awake with a gentle jostle and led them all down the narrow staircase, the sound of popcorn kernels scattering on the floor accompanying them all the way down to the second floor landing.

They waited outside while Beverly changed into her pyjamas in Bill’s room, and they gave her the bed while the rest of them rolled out their sleeping bags. Richie set his and Eddie’s as far away from the others as possible, a move that earned him some raised eyebrows.

Sleepovers like these had become a rare commodity in recent years and it had taken some serious scheming to get Sonia to allow Eddie a night of freedom. He was still wide awake, vibrating like a small dynamo from all the sugar he’d consumed over the evening as he rifled through his impressively large toiletry bag.

“Aren’t you guys gonna brush your teeth?” Eddie asked when he realized everyone had already slipped into their sleeping bags. “Do you realize how much sugar you’ve had tonight? Your teeth will fall out!”

“We can get dentures,” Richie said, flicking his tongue over his teeth. “My dad will give everyone a discount.”

Eddie held up his hand and threw everyone his _I can’t believe I’m friends with any of you_ look as he clutched his toiletry bag against his chest and stomped into the bathroom.

Richie pulled Eddie’s sleeping bag a little closer to his own, ignoring the stern look Bill aimed at him from the other side of the room.

“Seriously, Richie, no funny business while we sleep,” Bill said, the lines of his jaw taut as he struggled to keep his stutter at bay.

“No funny business, scout’s honor,” Richie nodded and shot Bill a three-fingered salute.

Stan poked his head out from his sleeping bag, his curls sticking out at odd angles. “When were you ever in the boy scouts?”

“Well, I can tie a knot,” Richie offered. “That’s gotta count for something.”

Stan let out a tired snort and dropped his head back against his pillow, shifting around like a giant caterpillar as he turned to face the wall.

Richie settled into his own sleeping bag and drummed a restless beat against his thighs as he waited for Eddie to be done with his routine in the bathroom. He’d been like this since they were little, spending an ungodly amount of time on brushing and flossing and scrubbing while Richie’s idea of personal hygiene consisted mostly of making sure that his clothes didn’t have any visible stains, and keeping the hairs above his upper lip short enough so Eddie didn’t get itchy and complain when they made out.

Richie bolted up when Eddie finally emerged from the bathroom, his scent laced with mint, and face pink from the aforementioned scrubbing.

“You look as fresh as a newborn baby,” Richie said, sniffing at Eddie’s freckled cheek as he slipped into his sleeping bag. “You smell like one too.”

“I smell like a baby?” Eddie huffed, the arch of his brow unimpressed.

“Like a _fresh_ baby,” Richie clarified, inching a little closer until his knees were pressed against Eddie’s through the stuffed fabric of their sleeping bags.

“Okay, I’m gonna turn the lights off,” Beverly announced, her finger hovering over the switch of Bill’s reading lamp. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She hit the switch and sent them off to dreamland with a quiet snicker as she added, “Or handsy little alphas.”

Richie snorted at Beverly’s little jab and set his glasses next to Eddie’s toiletry bag as he listened to the restless shifting around the room. Stan would go out first, followed by Ben and Mike, who could fall asleep anywhere. Bev was probably still watching him and Eddie from the bed with that all-knowing smirk on her lips while Bill strained his ears like a watchdog on the other side of the room.

Richie had to stamp down the urge to plant a loud kiss to Eddie’s lips just to piss Bill off. Which was stupid, because he was in Bill’s territory and asking people to limit their public groping with five other people in the room was a pretty reasonable request. There was no official pecking order between them and Richie wasn’t too keen to force one, because deep down, he knew Bill would emerge as the winner. Bill who had always had an aura of charisma in spite of his stuttering, and an inner strength that inspired loyalty from everyone around him, including Richie.

The rustling of sleeping bags began to quiet down after another ten minutes, everyone’s sleepy scents mingling in the room.

Richie pulled his hand out of his sleeping bag to tickle Eddie’s nose. “Hey, Eds? You asleep?”

Eddie let out a sleepy snort against Richie’s knuckles. “Well, I was about to be...”

“Turn over,” Richie whispered, nudging Eddie with his knees. “I wanna spoon.”

He could almost picture Eddie’s long-suffering eye roll as he shuffled around to lie on his side, inviting Richie to curl against his back. Richie grinned into the darkness as he wound his arm around Eddie’s waist and they slotted together like two puzzle pieces, a little ill-fitting, because unlike Richie, Eddie hadn’t shot up to six feet since last summer.

He lifted his head and listened for any sign of someone still being awake, but it seemed everyone was off on their date with Mr. Sandman, which meant Richie could let his hand wander, just a little.

Eddie’s spine went stiff against Richie’s chest the moment he gave the zipper of Eddie’s sleeping bag a little pull. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“Come on, Eds, I know you want to,” Richie whispered, nuzzling his nose against the back of Eddie’s neck as he continued to inch the zipper down in a slow crawl. “I can smell it.”

He felt Eddie squirm inside his sleeping bag, and he was ready to go full Matlock and argue his case for a little late-night groping, but it seemed there was no need to butter Eddie up with any big speeches.

“You better not wake everyone up,” Eddie hissed, and Richie almost lost his hold on the zipper when he arched his back to press his ass against Richie’s crotch.

“Yowza...”

Richie slipped his hand inside Eddie’s sleeping bag and rolled his hips in a slow grind, already at half-chub in his underwear. Eddie’s body was like a little furnace, growing even hotter as Richie slid his fingers down his belly and cupped him through a familiar pair of red shorts also known as the symbol of his sexual awakening long before he’d presented.

“You’re getting hard,” Richie observed as he fondled Eddie through the smooth nylon.

“So are you,” came Eddie’s breathless reply, almost a little defensive even as his scent shifted into something more intimate.

It stoked the fire in Richie’s gut and made him bolder, greedier, Horny with capital H. He cupped Eddie’s ass and slid his palm down the round curve of it, knew he'd be in uncharted territory if he slipped his fingers under the absurdly short hem of his shorts.

“Richie…” Eddie whined, his sleeping bag rustling as he tried to pull his knee up against his chest, almost like he was _inviting_ Richie to...

Richie’s fingers froze against Eddie’s thigh as he smelled the shift in his scent, sweet and _slick_. “Holy shit, Eds, are you-”

Eddie let out a startled squeak and shoved Richie’s hand away, scrambling out of his sleeping bag before Richie had a chance to finish his sentence. Richie blinked as Eddie’s blurry shape dashed across the room, the quiet wail of hinges on Bill’s bedroom door telling his ears what his eyes failed to see.

Richie fumbled for his glasses and tiptoed across the room, pretty sure at least one of the Losers had been woken up by Eddie’s sudden exit, but he didn’t linger to give an explanation or to see who it was.

The world outside of Bill’s room was quiet and shrouded in midnight shadows, but the light bleeding through the gap under the bathroom door kept Richie on Eddie’s trail. He rapped his knuckles against the door, careful to keep his voice down as his eyes flicked to Georgie’s room across the hallway. “Eddie? Can I come in?” 

There was no answer, but Richie turned the handle and found it unlocked. He slipped inside and found Eddie hunched in front of the mirror, his fingers clutched around the edge of the sink in a white-knuckled grip.

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie whined, his scent a confusing mix of arousal and shame as he stared at Richie through the mirror, his chest rising with shallow little pants and eyes like an ink spill.

Richie came closer and settled his hands on Eddie’s hips. “Eds… Did you- Did you get a little wet?”

Eddie flushed at the question, and Richie knew he was more than a little wet, could see and _smell_ the trail of slick running down the inside of Eddie’s left thigh.

“I, umm, I could help, if you let me.” Richie leaned in to nose at Eddie’s neck and mouthed at his bonding gland just under the collar of his old Alf t-shirt. “Please, let me?”

Eddie bit his lip, the heady addition of the slick in his scent making Richie’s hands on Eddie’s hips tremble a little. They both got turned on whenever they made out, but Richie hadn’t smelled Eddie this wet, not since the day he’d risked the wrath of Sonia Kaspbrak and climbed up to his window.

“I’ll make a mess…” Eddie protested, and he would, but so would Richie, his knot already swelling inside his basketball shorts.

Richie glanced at the bathtub, the edges of it lined with shampoo bottles and Georgie’s bath toys. And maybe it was a little fucked up to even consider getting your rocks off in someone else’s bathroom with a house full of people, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Eddie _was_ desperate, Richie could tell by his half-lidded gaze and the way he rocked his hips in aborted little thrusts.

Richie clicked the lock on the door and reached to pry Eddie’s hands off the sink. “It’s okay, babe, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured.

Eddie gave no protest as Richie hooked his fingers under the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down his legs, his eyes drawn to the trail of slick on his inner thigh. “Thirteen year old Richie would have blown his load by now.”

Eddie let out a breathless laugh, digging his toes into the bath mat. “I always knew you were into my tighty-whities.”

“Oh yeah, these things drive a guy wild.” Richie settled his fingers on the waistband of Eddie’s underwear and began to inch them down his thighs. He had pictured this moment more times than he could count, the thought of getting to undress Eddie Kaspbrak a well-loved fantasy in his spank bank, but the sight of Eddie’s hard dick mere inches away from his face turned Richie’s brain to static.

He’d flipped through enough anatomy books to know how omegas were built, knew all about the differences between himself and Eddie, in theory, but he’d never thought something between another guy’s legs could be so, what was the word?

“If you say my dick is cute, I’m gonna slap you with it,” Eddie warned, screwing his eyes shut when he saw the lecherous grin that spread on Richie’s face. Because yeah, he could be into that. “Shut up.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Richie grinned. He held up his hand and worried his lip between his teeth as he watched Eddie through his smudged glasses. “Can I touch you?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nodded, his lashes fluttering as he pressed his knuckles against his lips.

Richie wrapped his fingers around Eddie’s cock, slender and so lovely that Richie had to bite his tongue to keep his mouth from waxing something dumb and poetic. His palm was dry, but he gave a little squeeze, the choked moan Eddie exhaled against his knuckles making the alpha in Richie preen.

_Well done, Richard Tozier, A+ and a gold star._

He lifted his other hand and stroked it up along the length of Eddie’s leg, the downy hairs shifting under his fingers as he drew closer and closer to the trail of slick. He felt Eddie jump, watched the faint layer of fat on his inner thigh ripple with it, tiny goosebumps following the movement of his fingers as he dragged them through the slick.

“Richie…” Eddie took a gentle hold of Richie’s hair, his tongue sliding back and forth along the seam of his lips, his eyes fixed on Richie’s hand as he brought it up to his mouth. “Wait, are you gonna-”

Richie pushed his fingers into his mouth, his nostrils flaring at the taste of Eddie’s slick. The fingers in his hair scraped against his scalp and Richie realized the hollow moan that bounced off the tiles had slipped from his own lips.

“Shhh!” Eddie hissed, his eyes a little frantic. “Georgie’s room is just down the hall.”

Richie pulled his fingers out and rubbed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, chasing down every little trace of Eddie’s taste. He tugged at the strings on his shorts as he watched Eddie climb into the bathtub with shaky legs, a dash of nerves joining the arousal in his belly.

They’d gone skinny dipping in the quarry a few times as kids and they’d seen each other naked in the locker rooms before Eddie was moved away from regular PE in their freshman year. But that was a while ago, and definitely before Richie had begun to pop a knot at the mere thought of getting his hands on Eddie.

Eddie folded his fingers around the edge of the tub, his eyes growing almost comically wide when Richie finally pushed his shorts down his legs and did his best to look like every nerve in his body wasn’t about to implode under Eddie’s curious gaze.

“Is that the… You know?” Eddie asked, pointing at the base of Richie’s cock.

“The knot? Yeah.” Richie nodded, tilting his chin up. “Pretty big, huh?”

Eddie pursed his lips and tilted his head, the slope of his brows a little confused. “It doesn’t look like the pictures in our bio books.”

Richie was pretty sure he was flushed all the way to the roots of his hair as he glanced down at his dick. Of course, it didn’t look like some medical illustration they’d both laughed at in their seventh grade bio class. That dick hadn’t even been attached to an actual body!

"You sure know how to make a guy feel like a million dollars, Eds," Richie laughed nervously, squinting at the light above the sink. Had it been so bright and unforgiving just a moment ago?

Eddie seemed to smell the self-conscious edge in Richie’s scent, and he reached out, his cheek dimpling as he arched his brow. “Can I touch it?” he asked softly.

“Wait, what? Really? Wow, okay. I mean, you don’t have to, but yeah, you can touch it. Totally.” 

Richie scrambled into the bathtub with Eddie, careful not to maul him with his too-long legs as he sat down in the opposite end. He pressed his thighs against the cool porcelain and pushed his glasses up his nose, shooting Eddie an expectant look.

“Go to town, babe.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and wiped his palm against Alf’s faded snout on his shirt, his tongue pressed against his bottom lip as he reached between Richie’s thighs.

“Oh- Oh fuck…” Richie knocked the back of his head against the lavender tiles, the sight and feel of Eddie’s hand on his knot making his self-control, a work-in-progress at the best of times, come undone faster than the wrapping paper on his Nintendo last Christmas .

Eddie sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as he pressed the pads of his fingers into Richie’s knot, gentle and a little hesitant.

“What's it feel like, Doctor K?” Richie asked, his voice strained.

"Kinda like a water balloon?" Eddie grinned. He gave Richie’s knot a light rub and his brows climbed up on his forehead as it began to expand against his palm. “Whoa! Richie, I can feel it growing...”

“Uh-huh,” Richie nodded, a little breathless. He knew he’d be blowing his load in about thirty seconds, maybe even faster with the scent of Eddie’s slick in his nose. “Shit, Eddie, I’m not gonna last long,” Richie gasped, pulling away from Eddie’s curious hand. “Can you turn over? I wanna touch you, too.”

Eddie rolled his shoulders and hugged his knees against his chest. “I’m so messy…”

Richie didn’t need his eyes to know that Eddie was probably sitting in a small pool of his own slick, the mere thought of it a nice addition to his spank bank for nights when Sonia was in one of her moods and Eddie was forced to stay home.

“It’s okay, Eds, you’re allowed to be,” Richie said gently. “And we can wash it all away when we’re done, no one has to know.”

Eddie continued to squirm, curling his toes against the porcelain.

“Eddie, my love,” Richie crooned in the tune of the old Chordettes song he’d sung to Eddie over the years whenever he’d felt the need to air out his feelings under the guise of a joke.

“Shut up or you’ll wake the entire house, asshole, “ Eddie hissed, the insult soft like an endearment.

"Please, Eddie, don’t make me wait too long...”

"Okay, okay," Eddie laughed, pressing his palm against Richie's mouth. He shuffled onto his hands and knees, his eyes a little shy as he watched Richie over his shoulder.

Richie had spent most of his teenage years ogling at Eddie’s ass in several different positions, but never like this, pert and round and _on offer_. He pushed the hem of Eddie’s shirt up his back and stroked his thumbs over the dimples above his ass, his mind slipping back to static as he reached down to part his cheeks.

And Eddie was wet, the skin between his cheeks glistening with it. Jesus fucking Christ. Richie’s mouth fell open, his tongue suddenly drenched in saliva as he watched Eddie’s hole clench around nothing, a fresh burst of slick sliding down the pink seam on his taint.

“Fuck, Eddie, can I eat you out?” Richie asked, his knot pulsing between his thighs as he followed the glob of slick with his eyes.

“That’s so filthy, Richie,” Eddie whined, his palms skidding against the porcelain.

“Everyone’s been calling me Trashmouth since fourth grade, my mouth’s already filthy,” Richie grinned, inching his thumbs a little closer to Eddie’s hole.

Eddie rolled his eyes and shifted to rest his weight against his forearms. “Okay… But you definitely can’t kiss me until you brush your teeth!”

Richie had to bite back the excited little whoop bubbling in his chest as he set his glasses on the side of the tub, the world around him reduced into a blur of shapes and colors. He spread Eddie’s cheeks a little wider and leaned in to lick a bead of slick into his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head as the taste of it exploded on his tongue.

He groaned as he felt his knot strain, something wild and greedy in his blood driving him to bury his face between Eddie’s cheeks as the last shreds of his self-control came undone. He shoved his hand between his legs to squeeze his knot as his load began to spill on the porcelain with a wet splatter, the need to bury himself into something warm and tight almost overwhelming.

Eddie let out a startled gasp as Richie tried to mount him in an awkward jumble of limbs, his knees slipping on the porcelain. “Richie, no, we can’t, it’s not safe,” he hissed, reaching back to shove at Richie’s shoulder. “My heats aren't regular yet and my mom won’t let me go on the… you know.”

“The pill?” Richie asked, because Sonia Kaspbrak would always see Eddie as a little bird-boned moppet, didn’t matter how old he got. “It’s okay, babe, I won't put it inside or do anything we’d regret,” Richie murmured, nosing at Eddie’s neck to calm him. “I just wanna feel you against my knot, help it go down a little faster, okay?”

“Oh. Okay,” Eddie nodded, the tension in his muscles easing as he let Richie settle against his back.

Richie parted Eddie’s cheeks and pressed his knot against his slick hole, his load still spilling out in slow pulses as he reached under Eddie’s belly and wrapped his fingers around his cock, still hard and straining for release.

Eddie exhaled a quiet moan as Richie gave him a couple of sloppy tugs, the air in the bathroom thick with the scent of his arousal as his cock drooled out a pulse of come over Richie’s fingers. It wasn't much, and Richie wondered if his handjob had been less than satisfying when he felt a warm squirt of slick against his knot, thick and viscous. It dribbled against the porcelain with a wet little splat and Richie pulled back to watch as several more beads slid down the curve of Eddie's thigh like a trail of sap.

"Mrs. Reeve sure as hell didn't cover _that_ in our bio class," Richie said, a little breathless.

"I told you I'd make a mess..." Eddie muttered, his cheeks as red as a fire truck.

"You sure did, babe." Richie gave Eddie’s ass a playful pat and they both winced when his elbow knocked against Georgie’s toy submarine, balanced on the edge of the bathtub. It fell down with a soft thud instead of the loud clatter Richie was expecting, and he blew out a relieved whistle when he looked over the edge and saw the toy laying on the plush bath mat.

“Shit… I can’t believe we did that,” Eddie snickered, his eyes wide as he turned around and stared at the mess between them. “Bill is gonna murder us if he finds out.”

The part of Richie’s brain that was still in caveman mode, territorial and running on pure instinct, kind of wanted Bill to find out, wanted him to smell what Richie had done with Eddie right under his nose.

“Ugh, Richie, your face,” Eddie groaned, gagging at the mess smeared all over Richie’s cheeks.

Richie wagged his brows in his best Pepe Le Pew impression and laughed as Eddie plastered himself against the edge of the tub when he pretended to come in for a kiss.

Eddie scrambled out of the tub and grabbed a fresh bath cloth from the linen cabinet, tossing it at Richie’s face. They turned the tap on, the mess they’d made disappearing down the drain as Eddie cleaned Richie’s face and set his glasses back on his nose.

Richie found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet above the sink and did a quick gurgle as he pulled his shorts back on. Eddie’s underwear had been ruined almost as soon as Richie had slipped his hand into his sleeping bag and he glowered at Richie through the mirror as he slipped back into his shorts.

“It’s your fault that I’m gonna have to sleep commando with all our friends in the same room,” he grumbled.

“Hey, all I did was spoon you,” Richie grinned, smacking his minty-fresh mouth. He cupped Eddie by his ears and bent down to kiss the frown off his lips.

They tiptoed back into Bill’s room, making sure to avoid the creaky floorboard below the hatch that led to the attic. The room was filled with sleepy snores and snuffles, and Richie gave Eddie a thumbs up as they slipped back into their sleeping bags, pretty sure that their absence had gone unnoticed.

He shuffled a little closer, about to plaster himself against Eddie’s flank, but Eddie’s arm shot out of his sleeping bag like a jack-in-the-box. He pressed his hand against Richie’s face and let out a little gasp when Richie tried to lick his palm.

“ _No. Spooning_.”

They both lifted their heads at the amused little snicker behind their backs. "Yeah, no spooning, you horn dog," Beverly whispered in the dark, her wry smile audible in her sleepy voice.

  
  


***


End file.
